


(danger in your eyes) baby you can devour me

by girlsarewolves



Series: exchanges [12]
Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Fic Exchange, Flashbacks, Gratuitous Smut, Incest, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sibling Incest, Slash, Smut, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-09-26 17:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: Years down the road, Sam finds his brother again.(Or - the Michael is still a vampire, and Sam doesn't care au.)





	(danger in your eyes) baby you can devour me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).

* * *

Sam knew this life well. The humming glow of neon; bright colors flashing, shifting, chasing after; the sugary scent of fried sweets mixed with the saltiness of the sea air and smells of savory treats for sale; the constant hungry, demanding cries of seagulls.

He remembered being dragged from the safe familiarity of Phoenix and its dry, desert heat, all the way to the coast and a small town that survived by the grace and pockets of tourists hungry for indulgent food and amusement rides and cheap souvenirs. He remembered swimming through seas of crowds more than swimming through waves and rip currents that were more merciful that the predators stalking the rides and the shops. He remembered the missing posters everywhere and how easy it was for people to disappear. He remembered learning to worry constantly if the screams he heard were for thrills or for kills - learning to distinguish the difference.

Yeah, Sam knew boardwalk life well.

He fucking hated it. Even without the damn vampires - but they didn’t help. Too loud and too sticky and too humid. Maybe when he was a kid he thought it might end up okay, might even be fun, cool, but he’d been disillusioned pretty damn quickly. He’d told himself after David and Max and the others were killed and the dust had settled that when he grew up, he was never living near the beach.

Apparently his life was one big joke.

Time and time again, he ended up at the coast - wound up in some tourist trap that thrived at night, where you could never see the stars in the sky, that covered up littering and poverty and missing people with bright, flashing lights and wild rides and all kinds of goodies that were all kinds of bad for you. Time and time again, he was on the boardwalk, searching through crowds for a familiar face - but that was the lure and the danger of the boardwalk. It was near impossible to make out one person from another in that sea of faces.

Michael had years of perfecting the art of hunting without being seen. 

But nobody knew Michael like Sam did - and Michael could sometimes forget just how well Sam knew him.

That was how he’d caught up with him the few times he’d found Michael over the years since his brother had fled from home, from family, from Sam. Inevitably, Michael would slip up, make a mistake, do something that gave Sam the chance to catch up, to pick him out from the crowd. They’d have a bitter reunion full of arguing and shouting and accusations that skirted around the real issue.

Michael always calledl him stupid or foolish or reckless.

Sam snapped back - called him cowardly, selfish, cruel.

It always seemed to end the same - Michael telling him to go away, Sam asking him to come home.

Neither of them ever brought up that last night at Grandpa’s, what happened in Sam’s room, what happened in Sam’s bed. It always hung in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore, but they kept doing their damndest to pretend they’d forgotten, that it wasn’t part of the problem, that it wasn’t the catalyst for this decade long game of chase they won’t - can’t - stop playing.

It was roughly two years since the last time they crossed paths - one of the few times it was somewhere different, a mountain town during leaf-peeping season, when there were plenty of tourists getting lost on forest trails - Sam was beginning to worry. This was the longest it’d been since seeing his brother after the first few years, back when he was younger and it was harder to blend in with the crowd and get from one place to another, when he had to be a lot more careful of the human predators as well as all the undead ones. Two years, but he still felt Michael’s hand on his throat, so tight it’d left bruises that took over almost two weeks to fully fade away. Two years, but he still remembered the hungry look in his brother’s eyes as he told him next time he’d give Sam the last thing he wanted, turn him and make him feed, make Sam just like him.

Somehow, even with that vice-like grip on his throat, Sam still managed to hoarsely whisper back, “Maybe that _ is _ what I want.”

Michael fled from him as if burned, as if those words were scorching sunlight on his skin. That was the last time Sam saw his brother, that amber-eyed, blood-thirsty monster that pressed in too close, like the years on the move and life as a vampire had made it harder to remember there were brothers, they were blood - that the whole reason he’d ditched in the first place was to protect Sam from himself.

Too bad for Michael, that wasn’t what Sam wanted at all.

He told his mom he was doing this for all of them, for their family, but the truth was he was doing this - hunting after Michael for years, no matter how many threats Michael threw at him, no matter how many bruises and fang scratches Michael left on his body - for himself.

A gaggle of teenage girls shrieked overhead as the Freakout swung around. A gull hopped out of his way after grabbing up a fry. The wind off the breeze was damp but cool and welcome in contrast to the stifling mugginess of the summer night air. Out on the horizon, heat lightning danced from cloud to cloud, too distant to see any streaks.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and Sam stopped in his tracks, turning in place as he felt the weight of someone watching him. It was a sixth sense he’d picked up after years of Michael - and others - watching him, smelling him, sizing him up. In the early days, he would have called it a ‘spidey-sense’, but he gave up comics a long time ago.

Someone was walking down the alley between the ice cream parlor and the old time photos shop - long, thick hair whipping around in the breeze.

Sam turned down. He knew that leather jacket, knew that walk.

“Michael!”

* * *

_ 1988 _

“Michael…”

Sam trails off, breath catching in his throat as Michael’s mouth suckles on his racing pulse. Fangs scrape at his skin and hands hold him in place, but Sam has no desire to move away. He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t protest, just lets Michael hold him from behind, chest pressed to Sam’s back, and clutches at the unmovable arms holding him tight.

“Do you have any idea how loud your blood is right now?” Michael murmurs; his words come out almost slurred, like he’s drunk on the sound of Sam’s heart hammering away in his chest, pumping his blood fast through his body in a mix of panic and need, much of it being diverted down between his thighs. One of Michael’s hands curls at Sam’s lower abdomen, bunching up the material of his shirt, and any doubt Sam had that Michael knows how hard he is pretty much history. “_ Fuck _, Sam, it’s singing to me.”

All Sam can do is groan helplessly, twisting and writhing in that iron grip while Michael attaches his mouth back to Sam’s pulse, that hand on his abdomen inching down lower. He bites down on his lip, because he shouldn’t want what he wants, but he wants it - _ needs it _ \- and he can’t take the chance that saying so might shatter the spell they’re both under.

He wants to beg Michael to bite him. Feed on him. Touch him. _ Fuck _him. He wants out of his clothes, his skin feels too hot and too damp and too sticky from summer and lust.

Their mom is down the hall, sleeping. 

Grandpa is out for a wild night on the town at the bingo hall, where all the old ladies are. 

Nanuk passed away a year ago, not long after helping them kill Max and David and his gang. Three years older than the vet thought he’d make it to, and one year short of being there to protect Sam when he needs it most.

But it’s his own fault, isn’t it? He summoned Michael to his room, his brother’s name on his lips while his hand was down his boxers, sloppily making noise when he wasn’t sure if Michael had left the house yet or not.

Maybe it was on purpose.

Maybe this is exactly what he was hoping would happen, maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, and is finally getting his way.

Sharp teeth press at the tender skin of his neck that Michael’s mouth has left bruised and raw, the promise of something more ripening as he applies more pressure, and then there’s a fresh burst of pain that feels good. Blood pools at the wound, Sam can feel it, feels Michael’s tongue lap it up, and then those sharp teeth are back, sunken in, and Michael sucks. It’s an awful, amazing sensation that Sam can feel from his toes to the crown of his head.

Everything is a jumbled mess in Sam’s head, his lust drowning out his fear and logic. This can’t happen - this has been building up for longer than he’s comfortable admitting; this will change everything even more than Michael becoming a vampire. In the back of his mind, he knows this, but he can’t quite muster up the will to care.

They can keep it a secret. This is a little easier to hide than becoming one of the undead. Is it so much worse than attacking people, sometimes killing them, even if they’re bad people?

Michael groans against his skin, sucks. Sam can feel his brother swallowing his blood, feels the pull of it leaving him light-headed - his brain can live without blood, right? When it’s being diverted to either his dick or his neck?

Fingers slip under the waistband of his boxers and stroke the skin just above his cock, leaving him twitching and leaking into the thin material of his underwear. Michael’s grinding up against him, and it’s gratifying to feel how hard this has gotten Michael, too, that it isn’t just blood lust fueling his actions.

“Fuck, please, Michael - I want it.” The words tumble out of him before he can stop himself, and the moment he speaks, he knows he’s ruined this.

Like a cockroach fleeing the light, Michael releases him and recoils from the bed, rising up until he hits the ceiling with a thunk, wild-eyed and messy-haired. Sam’s blood stains his lips dark crimson, dribbling down his chin and now forming droplets that fall onto Sam’s bed. “Shit. Sam, I - we - I _ can’t _.”

Sam rolls onto his back, panting and hard and missing Michael’s body next to his already. Blood is still rising up to the puncture wounds on his throat, trickling down to form a spreading stain on his pillow. He sees the panic and shame in Michael’s eyes and thinks, vaguely, he should feel similarly - but he doesn’t. He wants to beg Michael back down, finish the job - drain him dry, make him come, turn him, fuck him, _ he doesn’t care anymore _ \- but now of course the words are catching in his throat.

All he manages to pant is his brother’s name.

* * *

_ 2009 _

“Michael! Don’t you walk away from me again!” He shouted at the figure at the other end of the alley.

“Or what?” Michael called back, head turned just enough to shout over his shoulder. He stood there, where either way he turned could have him disappear down behind the row of buildings facing out to the ocean, could take off and be long gone before Sam would be able to make it down there. He stayed there, though, waiting, head tilted just enough that Sam could make out his mouth in the dim light.

“Or we go back to square one. I can’t be the only one sick of this.”

“Then go home, Sam. Go _ home _.”

“And what, pretend I can live a normal life? Spend the rest of my years wondering if I’ll ever see you again, if Mom will ever see you again? If you’re still around or some vampire hunter finally got to you? Thanks, but no thanks!”

Michael turned around then, finally, his entire body tense - ready to bolt. “You can actually have a normal life, Sam! You still have a chance at that!”

“I’m not normal!” Sam all but screamed. He didn’t care if the entire boardwalk heard him - but he knew that only those passing by the alleyway would hear, maybe glance down, maybe pause, but keep going on their way and quickly put this scene out of their heads; he needed Michael to understand. He needed to get this out while he had the courage and the anger to get the words out. “I’m not what people consider normal, I never have been, and it wasn’t until that night that I finally admitted to myself I couldn’t fake it anymore.” He stepped closer, slowly, like approaching a wild animal - terrified that any sudden moves might send Michael flying, but he was tired of this stupid chase.

He was tired of skirting around the real issues, tired of missing his brother even in ways that weren’t right. He didn’t care. 

“I don’t know which I figured out first - that I was into guys or that I was into you. But both are true. And I know you like girls, but you like guys, too - and not just me. I’ve seen you with others over the years, the times I’ve caught up to you. I know you loved Starr before she left, and I know - _ I know _\- you love me in ways you think you shouldn’t. Maybe you’re right to be afraid of that, maybe you’re right that it’s wrong. But does it even fucking matter anymore, Michael? You’re a vampire, we’re both adults - and if it makes you feel better, I’m not some desperate virgin anymore. I’ve been with other guys, I’ve dated other guys, and every time, I leave them. For you. Because it’s you and me, Michael. You know that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

His brother stood there, silent as the grave. There was a tightness to his stance that gave Sam the sinking feeling Michael was ready to flee. Another step closer, another word more, and that tension would be released, and Michael would run again - restarting the game, this whole stupid cycle continuing on even when one of them changed up the routine.

But then Michael took a slow, shaky step towards him. Like he was holding himself back, like he had to move carefully, or he would do something that frightened him.

“That night was a mistake, Sam. I - I shouldn’t have touched you like that. Ignoring the fact we’re brothers, you were just a kid.”

“I was fifteen, but fine. I’m an adult now.” Sam refrained from telling Michael he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner, that he’d wanted it long before then. He took another step forward, movements just as slow and cautious as Michael’s had been. “Hell, Michael, I look older than you at this point.”

Michael’s head cocked to one side, eyes roaming over him and settling back on his face. A shadow of something passed over his face - confusion, surprise - like he was only now seeing Sam as he was, and not the little kid brother he’d left aching in his bed. Had he been seeing a ghost of who Sam used to be? Haunted by that last image before he’d disappeared into the night?

“Shit.” He twisted away from Sam then, one hand brushing through his wind-swept hair. The weight of him shifted from one foot to the other, and for a moment, it looked like he was going to finally take off. 

But then he turned back towards Sam. Took another step closer. His blue eyes were painted purple by the glow of neon blue and red of an open sign hanging nearby, his features bathed in that artificial light. He really did look exactly the same - forever eighteen, forever his big brother but now younger, no wrinkles, no stress or laugh lines, no creases of age and wisdom around the eyes, no trace of silver in his still long hair. He was as gorgeous as ever. Always would be. He reached over - Sam blinked, because somehow he missed when Michael got close enough to touch him - and cupped his face.

“I’ve worn you out all these years, haven’t?” Michael whispered, even closer now, almost up against Sam. “Fuck, Sam - I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have run.” There wasn’t any venom in his words though, no real anger anymore, not in that moment. Not with Michael close, touching him, looking at his face, but his eyes suspiciously gazing below his eyes. Sam hovered in that moment, so close to Michael and to something they’d been avoiding and ignoring for so long. If he gave in - if he closed the distance left between them, would Michael run again? If he touched Michael the way Michael was touching him, would that snap his brother out of this?

“You were too young.” Michael’s gaze flickered between his eyes and his mouth. “And you’re my brother.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, and you’re a filthy, bloodsucking vampire.” He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “So what? It was a joke that we thought we could pretend everything was normal. I get that we had to when Mom was around, we had to make it easier for her. And yeah, maybe then I was too young, but - so were you when this happened. Now I’m the creepy older guy.”

That got Michael to laugh, a long and throaty chuckle out of his brother - a sound Sam hadn’t heard in _ years _.

Fuck, he’d missed it.

Sam kissed him. He couldn’t help himself - having Michael so close, hearing him laugh, feeling his brother’s hands on him, gentle, familiar, comforting - he was weak and starving for it. His lips touched Michael’s, and he felt _ alive _ again, in a way he hadn’t felt for so long.

“Sam, I -”

* * *

_ 1988 _

“- I can’t do this to you.”

That’s all he says before he’s gone, out the window, out into the darkness of the night. Michael just leaves Sam there, sweating and aching and heart racing, a tightness in the pit of his stomach that he has to tend to himself - like always.

It takes too long with only his own hands, ends up forced and unsatisfying. Sam lays there, staring at the ceiling where his brother had been, as if he could will Michael to reappear there, if he just concentrated hard enough. He stares and waits and tries not to worry when dawn is an hour away. Or a half hour. Or fifteen minutes. Or five. Or - here.

And Michael isn’t.

  


Their mom searches the entire house, calls the gas station he took up weekend graveyard shifts at, her voice so audibly on the verge of frantic that the lazy asshole of a general manager actually goes to check the schedule instead of just taking a message that he’ll never follow up on like usual. She smiles, thanks him, tells him she appreciates it, and she’s sure Michael is with a friend or something when he confirms Michael wasn’t scheduled.

Sam swallows down the sick feeling of guilt that rises when she places the phone back on the receiver and takes a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders a dead giveaway that she’s fighting back tears. It hits him that she’s so worried, she hasn’t even asked why he’s wearing a turtleneck when it’s still warm outside.

“Do you think maybe that girl, what was her name? Star? Do you think she might have come back?”

“Maybe. Yeah, that’s probably it,” Sam lies. He hates how much he lies to his mom. He used to lie all the time - little fibs and white lies scattered throughout the days, like whether or not he brushed his teeth, if he did his homework, did he have any friends, was he happy at school - without feeling so awful. He lied to keep Mom happy and off his back, now he lies to keep Mom happy and unaware and away from a breakdown. They still come easy, but they leave a sour aftertaste.

But it makes Mom smile and nod, and go about her day able to stave off a panic. “You’re right. Besides, Michael can take care of himself.” She doesn’t add that she’s worried that it’s daytime, and that makes him vulnerable. She doesn’t add that she’s worried the day finally came that he ran off so he wouldn’t hurt them.

She doesn’t have to. It’s there in her eyes while pretends everything is fine.

Sam, on the other hand, he’s pacing the house, the yard, going through Michael’s things, trying to find any indication of where Michael might lay low. And then he remembers David’s nest. He lies again on his way out the door - “I might know where Star is staying!” - and gets on his bike, taking off for the cliffs.

It’s after dark when he comes home. He smells of smoke and ash, having set the remains of David’s lair ablaze mostly out of bitterness when that venture turned out fruitless. He comes in hoping that maybe Michael is back, and he doesn’t have to confess his lies, and watch his mother panic that she’s lost Michael for good now. But he hopes in vain - there’s no word, no sign of his brother, and their mom is wringing her hands, waiting to hear if he was right about Star and where she was staying and if Michael was there.

It hurts to come clean. It hurts telling his mom that Michael almost fed on him last night - that’s all, according to him, another lie mixed up in his confession even if it’s just by omission - and then fled when he realized what he was doing. It hurts admitting there hasn’t been any sign of Star, Michael was just hoping she might come back. It hurts telling his mom where he really went - and worse, that it was pointless.

It hurts, knowing what he really did and what he wanted, and how that drove Michael away.

It _ hurts _.

Sam languishes in his shame for a week, not knowing if Michael just ditched or if he was hurt or maybe hurt someone he shouldn’t have. He wonders if Michael found someone else to feed on or fuck - maybe a young guy, curly blond hair and a little baby fat left on his face. He hates the jealousy those thoughts stir up. 

After about a week and nothing, the guilt turns to anger. Resentment settles in - it wasn’t all his fault, that night, what happened, what almost happened. It takes two to tango, but they started to tango, and now they have to live with it, and Michael needs to get over it and come back home and stop hurting them.

Even Grandpa is worried.

Two months later they get a call.

“I’m fine. I’m not coming home. Don’t look for me. I love you guys. I’m sorry.” And then he hangs up before they can protest, before they can beg, before they can lash out at him and call him out for what he is - a coward, a jerk, a _ monster _. He doesn’t call again.

Two years later, Sam leaves. He promises his mom he’ll check in often. He’ll send her postcards, let her know if he finds him, keep her updated so she doesn’t have to fret. 

“It’s my job to fret over you two, you’re my sons,” she says, teary-eyed, trying to convince him he’s seventeen and it’s not his responsibility. “What kind of mother am I if I let you go off on your own? It’s not just vampires you have to be afraid of, Sam.”

“I know, Mom. But either I leave now, with you watching, or I slip out the window one night. I’ll be careful.” 

He stops by the Frog Brothers’ shop on the way out for goodbyes and supplies and tips on where to go. They have a whole network set up now, others who’ve encountered the undead and managed to come out the other end of it alive. Some are hunters, some are just regular people who know too much for their own comfort but want to help out. He doesn’t correct them when they tell him they’re sorry he has to end his own brother.

The last thing on his mind is killing Michael, ending his eternal suffering or however else the Frog Brothers want to think of life as a vampire. Let them think that if it will keep them off his and Michael’s trails.

He is giving serious thought to punching Michael out if he can, though.

* * *

_ 2009 _

“If you even think of saying we can’t do this one more time, I _ will _punch you. We both know I have a mean right hook, even to a vampire.”

Michael laughed again before rendering Sam speechless by initiating the next kiss himself. Fangs nibbled on his lower lip. “No, I’m not going to bother with that anymore.” His hands still cradled Sam’s face, his thumbs tenderly stroking over the skin. “To be honest, I’m tired. Time blends and blurs into itself that it’s hard to keep up - and yet, it’s been so long.” He nipped at the corner of Sam’s mouth, nosing at his cheek. The huskiness creeping into his voice sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. “So very long.”

“So let’s catch up.”

Sam barely uttered the words before Michael had him pinned to the wall of the old time photos building - he could hear the photographer talking to the people inside even if he couldn’t make out all the words. His brother’s mouth was on his again, hungry and demanding, Michael’s hands having moved from Sam’s face to his hips. If Sam opened his eyes, he’d be able to see tourists passing by in the right side of his peripheral vision. They were only about a third of the way into the alley, and he felt exposed, easily caught.

It was exhilarating. 

“Someone could see,” he gasped out when Michael nipped his way down to Sam’s pulse.

“Let them,” Michael growled, his fingers on Sam’s hips squeezing possessively. “You wanted to catch up, we’re catching up.” Fangs scraped over Sam’s pulse, over the faded, barely there scars from the first and last time he had his mouth on Sam’s neck. “This is East Coast, and we don’t look that much alike, especially in the dark.” His hands slid around, cupping Sam’s ass through his jeans, squeezing a little. “And I’m thirsty.”

Sam’s head was swimming, a mess of emotions and sensations and wants and needs. He felt intoxicated on lust, something warm and familiar fluttering in his chest, something more than the urgent want that Michael was bringing back to the surface. When his brother’s fangs sank into his throat while his body had Sam pinned to the wall, it’s ecstasy. That brief, sharp pain followed by the strange and sweet sensation of the tug on his blood that he feels throughout his entire body.

Michael nudged at his legs with one knee, spreading them enough that he could move in, standing between them. He removed his fangs from Sam’s pulse and licked up the blood pooling at the puncture wounds. “I could fuck you right here. I wanted to fuck you that night,” he confessed, voice strained and hoarse with desire. “I wanted to fuck you every time you found me. I wanted to turn you and keep you. I hated myself for how much I wanted that.”

If he kept this up, Sam was convinced he was going to just come right there in his jeans before Michael even properly touched him.

“As much as I want you to fuck me right here, there is no way I’m not going to draw too much attention to us,” Sam groaned, hips grinding into Michael. He could feel that his brother was as hard as he was, and that almost did him in. 

“You’re right.” Michael pulled him away from the wall, dragging him down the alley. He was moving almost too fast for Sam, but it was obvious he was making himself go slower than he wanted to. Everything about him seemed on edge, practically vibrating with energy and lust, and that fact sent a shudder through Sam, knowing Michael was just as eager and desperate as he was. 

The night air was thicker, warmer off the boardwalk, behind the buildings where the breeze couldn’t carry the ocean mist. Everything felt so much more stifling now, so much stickier from the humidity and the heat of the crowds wandering the streets. Sam’s clothes were tight and clinging to his sweat-damp skin, and he wondered if Michael ever got hot even in summer, if he really felt the oppressiveness of the muggy air anymore.

It felt like forever - though Sam knew he was just impatient and had certainly waited a lot longer for this moment than what was probably five minutes, at most, to reach this place - but eventually Michael lead him back to a motel. They bypassed the lobby and headed straight towards a door on the ground floor, at the back end of the building. In something that felt so much like the old days, underlined with something entirely new and different and forbidden, Michael draped his arm over Sam’s shoulders, holding him close as he dug out the motel room key from his pocket.

“This isn’t some gross roach motel, is it?” Sam teasingly whined. The way Michael was holding him made him feel younger. It reminded him of times before Star and David and That Town.

“Don’t be such a wuss,” Michael teased right back. “But no, it’s not. It’s not the Taj Mahal either, but we aren’t here for luxury, are we?”

Another tremor raced up his spine at the implication of Michael’s words. The situation felt so much more real, even though they weren’t making out in an alley; somehow, this felt heavier, more meaningful, and Sam’s nerves were rattled in ways he couldn’t pin down as good or frightening, and decided it was definitely both.

Inside the room was barely lit up enough to make out where the furniture was, the curtains closed and a sheet hung over them to cover the cracks where light slipped through. Fortunately for Sam, Michael didn’t need much beyond the muted, yellow glow of the parking lot lights filtered through the drapes. He led them into the room, carelessly kicking the door closed behind them. He guided Sam over to the first bed and spun around so they were facing each other, sitting down on the edge.

“_ Oh _,” Sam all but sputtered out, not expecting that. He swallowed and looked down, Michael’s eyes almost glowing in the dark of the room. 

“I was an asshole, ditching like that. Not just to you. I know I hurt Mom. I thought I was protecting both of you. I just couldn’t see past my own struggles. And all this time…” Michael reached up, brushing his fingers through Sam’s hair. “The more time passed, the easier it was to lose myself in this life. So much blood, Sammy.” 

_ Sammy. _

He hadn’t heard that on his brother’s lips in a long, long time. Hearing it then - hearing it in his brother’s confession - gave it more weight than he was sure he could withstand. It made him feel so much older than he was, and older than he wanted to be when looking down at Mike’s forever eighteen face.

“Mike, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not. I...I was ashamed. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, or mom, or kept running for so long.”

Emotions swelled up in Sam’s chest. Truthfully, he didn’t want to dwell on this, not then, not there, not in his brother’s dark motel room on the bed where they were definitely going to fuck. He wanted to tuck it away, address it later, when he wasn’t aching hard and foggy-brained from lust - but he couldn’t ignore everything said and unsaid in Michael’s words.

“I know, Mike. I get it.” Sam took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Everything’s became a mess when we moved to Santa Carla, after David and Max. And we’re so far removed from normal - and I get why you would run from that.” He leaned down then, his hands in Michael’s hair now, and kissed his brother softly. “Maybe you’ve done horrible things, but you’re still you. The fact that you avoided us because you were afraid of what you might do proves it. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice, but...we’re here now. That’s what matters. I don’t care anymore that you’re a shit-sucking vampire. I don’t care if this is wrong. I just want it to be us again.”

Even in the dark, Sam could make out his brother’s features, being so close - eyes closed, a look of absolution on his face. He looked like the old Michael, before Santa Carla and Star and David. Before leather jackets and an earring dangling from one ear and a tired, too cool for school meanness that had rubbed off on him.

“Come here,” he whispered, tugging Sam back into another kiss. The rawness of the moment was still fresh, but the haze of need was creeping back in, Michael’s hands lowering down to Sam’s hips, kneading, fingers sliding underneath his shirt. Those fingers curled, and claw-like nails scraped at his skin, chasing away the remaining uncertainty and the somber mood.

In the morning they could deal with the fall out.

In the morning they could hash it out, lay all their sins bare, and confront the struggles that weren’t over just because they were putting their hands and mouths all over each other.

In the morning.

Impatience came rushing back to Sam, stronger than before - needing to distract himself from Michael’s confession, from the weight of what was happening. He wanted to just savor it. Maybe he was a vampire in his own right - wanting to give in and indulge, wanting something that was forbidden and taboo and _ wrong _ but felt so fucking _ good _ . How could he judge his brother for giving into his own nature when Sam wanted something everyone would tell him was so _ unnatural _?

He grabbed the hem of his shirt, hurriedly lifting it up and over, tossing it aside.

Michael growled again, a sound that went straight to Sam’s dick, making him twitch in his jeans that were quickly becoming very uncomfortable.

“I like you possessive,” Sam laughed, unbothered by the change in Michael’s features, the more prominent cheekbones and hungry, yellow eyes, fangs out. He could even admit to himself it was exciting now, not so frightening - knowing how deeply he was affecting Michael. Knowing how badly Michael wanted him, his body, his blood.

“You haven’t seen possessive.” 

Before Sam could even blink, Michael had him on the bed, pinned down on his back. His brother hovered over, grinning to show off his sharp teeth, and took another kiss from Sam’s lips before dragging those sharp teeth down his jaw and throat. They didn’t stop at his pulse, no, they scraped over his collarbone, to his chest. He kissed him there, right over Sam’s wildly beating heart. “Your blood always was so loud to me.”

_ ‘Fuck, Sam, it’s singing to me.’ _

“So drink me up,” Sam groaned, his fingers gripping at Michael’s hair. “It feels so good when you do, Mike. So good.”

“_ Shit _, Sammy.” Michael pressed his face to Sam’s chest, hands on Sam’s sides, gripping tight - there were going to be many finger shaped bruises on his body tomorrow, but he welcomed it. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that to me.”

He couldn’t help it, he laughed, lifting his head so he could look down at his brother. “We’re in a little too deep to start pearl-clutching.”

“Guess you’re right,” Michael chuckled. He kissed over to the left. Nipped gently, fangs grazing over skin but not breaking through. “But if you don’t want me to wreck you right now, maybe tone it down.”

“Would saying maybe I want you to wreck me not be toning it down enough?”

Another growl, like a warning this time, and then Michael bit down, letting his fangs break through. He sucked hard, latched at Sam’s nipple, tongue teasing it as he fed. It was perverse and almost painful - and it felt so fucking good. Sam bucked his hips up in a desperate attempt at friction, pressure, something to alleviate how much he _ ached _. Michael’s hands lowered down and held Sam’s hips to the mattress while moving his own away, lifting up slightly, tormenting his brother by denying him what he wanted.

Maybe Sam could admit he brought that on himself. He knew his brother wasn’t the type to not tease back.

Maybe that was the point.

“Fuck,” he gasped, chest arching towards Michael while his hips remained trapped by his brother’s grip. Head pressed back into the pillow, he grasped at the rough cover of the motel bed, bunching it up in his fist until his knuckles turned white. “Please.”

With a smug and satisfied chuckle, Michael removed his mouth from Sam’s chest and crawled backwards down the bed, both hands releasing their hold on his hips. He bared his blood-stained fangs in wicked smirk as his fingers began to unbutton and unzip the too-tight jeans from Sam’s waist. There was something frighteningly erotic about the sight of blood - _ Sam’s blood _ \- trickling down Michael’s chin as he tugged the jeans down, that wet and red mouth so close to where Sam wanted it.

It was almost embarrassing how damp the front of his boxers were, but at this point Sam was beyond shame. He’d been a needy, desperate teenage boy in his brother’s arms years ago, begging to be fucked, so what did it matter now if his brother - who was about to finally get to fucking him - saw the evidence of how much Sam wanted him? Yes, he’d been leaking, yes, there was quite a tent to his boxers, yes, his body felt like it was pumping all his blood to his cock, and Michael undoubtedly had been hearing that the entire time.

Good. Let his brother know how much he wanted him.

Let it be crystal clear that Sam was an adult man who still got a raging boner over his older - younger? - brother. It wasn’t just some stupid, confused crush.

“Please what, Sammy?”

_ Oh, fuck _. Why was hearing that such a sinful rush? Sam blinked, trying to focus on the question through the thickening haze of sexual tension filling up the room and his brain. Licking his lips, staring at the ceiling to not get distracted, he quietly - pitifully - replied, “Please touch me. Suck me. Fuck me. I don’t care, just - shit, give me something, Michael.” 

Michael groaned, and Sam felt him shudder. “That’s a good boy.” That sent another awful, wicked rush of need through Sam, but Michael didn’t give him a chance to recover, yanking down his boxers to his knees and leaning in to give a brief suckle at the tip, licking up the sticky mess that had coated it.

“Shit!” Sam bucked and fought hard not to come right then and there. He wasn’t a damn teenager anymore. _ Shit _. His legs kicked and wriggled the rest of the way out of his jeans and boxers, splayed out to give Michael better access, the heels of his feet digging into the mattress.

Sensing how close he’d come to coming right then, Michael laughed again. “Easy, Sammy. I’m not going to take my time, but you’ll need to last a little bit longer than this.” He reached one hand up, pinched the nipple he hadn’t suckled from. “Not that isn’t flattering.”

“Oh, shut up, asshole!” Sam hissed, briefly looking down to glare.

“Pretty fucking sexy, too,” Michael added, voice a little deeper, a little hoarser - and then his hands were on Sam’s thighs, those claw fingernails pricking lightly at his skin without drawing blood, and his mouth was on Sam’s cock, and _ oh _ . _ Holy shit _.

_ Holy fucking shit _.

It wasn’t like this was his first time getting his dick sucked. He’d been with a few guys. He’d done a lot over the years, when he was burnt out on chasing Michael down, when he was considering maybe trying at normal - or as close to normal as he could get. He’d had some great lovers, but he’d never had a bond with them. Even the few that had managed to connect with him emotionally, it wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t Mike.

He’d thought about this plenty. Jerked off to it, come plenty of times to the thought of his brother doing all sorts of depraved things to him. Actually getting to feel Michael’s mouth on him, taking his cock in until it hit the back of his brother’s throat? It was beyond anything he’d experienced. There was something to finally getting what he’d wanted for so long, something about the darkness of the room, the coarse feeling of the comforter, the teasing scrape of fangs as Michael’s head began to bob up and down, claw-like nails on his thighs, the gentle vibration of Michael groaning around him.

He came quickly, and he came hard. He was certain that anyone and everyone in the whole motel building briefly heard him shouting, a stream of incoherent babbling that was probably a combination of curses and his brother’s name. All the tension and want that had been building all night - all these years - finally getting a release, it crashed over him, left him trembling and twitching and wiped out. He laid boneless and spent on the bed, vaguely aware of how hard he was panting, of Michael’s mouth leaving soft kisses over his stomach and hands gently stroking his thighs and hips.

Sam laughed, breathless and almost bitter. “I’d hoped I’d have a little more self control than that.”

Michael moved up, cupping his face to kiss him, slow and deep. His tongue still tasted salty, too salty - a taste that Sam knew well, and it almost stirred him back up already, but it was still too soon. “Least you managed to wait till I was blowing you.” He was grinning, a mouth full of normal, human-looking teeth. His blue eyes looked green in the faint, yellowish light. “We’ve got time, Sam.”

“You’re overdressed,” Sam said, realizing now that Michael was back up and almost laying on top of him that his brother hadn’t removed any of his own clothing yet. “Are you kidding me, not even the jacket?”

Michael rolled off him to lay beside him as his body shook with a full on belly laugh. “Come on, Sammy, most people like the jacket.”

“I’m not most people.” He hated that despite being a grown ass adult, Mike could still make him sound like a sulking brat.

“No, you’re not.” He trailed a finger over the bite he’d left on Sam’s throat, down to the fresh one on his chest. Mouth still wide with mirth, he slid himself off the bed and slowly, tauntingly removed his jacket. “That better, Sammy?” He tossed it onto the other bed and knelt back down beside Sam, working his shirt up and off. “How about this?”

All of a sudden Sam felt like the lecherous one. It sunk in how much older he was physically. Not that he felt out of shape or ashamed of his body, but he was pushing forty, he felt it, he looked it. He looked pretty damn good for almost forty if he said so himself, but still. Older. Not the dreamy eighteen year old heartthrob youthful looks of his brother. Something in him that was reacting off instinct and common sense, a knee jerk reflex that didn’t - couldn’t - account for supernatural eternal youth.

Hot damn, Michael looked good, and if he wasn’t a vampire, this would be all kinds of inappropriate, and really? His brain was getting hung up on that? His brother had just given him the best blowjob and orgasm of his life, was now undressing in front of him, had definitely killed people in the past, and Sam had been in love with him since he was thirteen. But this - _ this _ \- was making him think twice.

He supposed he should take it as reassurance that he wasn’t a total creep.

Michael hovered there, on his knees by Sam, head cocked to one side. Those hungry eyes were studying, picking up on Sam’s sudden shift. “Say stop, and we’ll stop.”

Sam swallowed, running a hand over his face. “Stopping is the last thing on my mind, it’s just that now I’m feeling like a creeper. I think I have an idea how you felt all those years ago.” He was laughing now, laughing at himself. Well, fuck, wasn’t that ironic? He looked up at his brother. “I was not expecting to be in this position.”

“Would it help if I told you I’ve fucked older?”

“...I’m not sure. Vampire or human?”

“Both. Multiple genders.” Michael bent over, one hand on the bed frame, holding himself up. The other cupped Sam’s face, thumb stroking his cheek and dragging across his lower lip. “And I’ve fucked humans who thought I was their age. Some of them guys who looked like what I thought you might look like at eighteen, nineteen. Besides,” He flashed a cocky grin. “I’m hot, who wouldn’t want me?”

It was so arrogant and cheesy, it didn’t even seem like Michael, at least, not the Mike that Sam had known - but it did feel like permission. It felt like Michael saying that there was plenty wrong with this and that wasn’t even near the top of the list, and maybe that didn’t even fucking matter anymore.

What Sam had been saying earlier. What Sam had been telling himself for so long.

“You’re an ass,” Sam muttered even while unable to hide his smile, and grabbed Michael by the arm to pull him down for another kiss. “You’re still overdressed.” His hands moved down, helping Michael unbutton and unzip his jeans. He hooked his thumbs into the waist of jeans and tugged down, vaguely away that Michael was already touching himself.

Commando.

He should have seen that coming.

_ Fuck _. “That’s such a turn on.” Sam’s eyes are glued to Michael’s hand on his own cock, stroking, pre-come beading at the tip. He felt himself stirring again, even though he was still thoroughly wiped out. It was a mild ache, one he knew would turn into a need once he had a little more down time. Which worked out perfectly, because he could focus on Michael without feeling like he was going to burst.

“That’s the idea.” 

“Was I this annoying?”

Michael shrugged, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Worse.”

“You’re biased.”

“Shut up and return the favor, _ Sammy _ .” He growled the nickname, putting heavy emphasis on it as if to remind Sam that despite his brief second thoughts, he was the little brother, not Michael. He laid his empty hand on the back of Sam’s head to guide him over. “Take your time, though, because I want you rested up enough to be _ fucked _ after this.”

“Don’t you mean wrecked?” Sam teased before he smacked Michael’s hand away and licked his way from base to tip. It seemed surreal almost - yeah, Mike had just sucked him off, but now he was doing the same. He was tasting his brother. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal - most guys tasted roughly the same. It wasn’t the greatest flavor, but enjoying it wasn’t about enjoying the taste of it. It was about the connection, about making your partner feel good, feeling how they reacted, tasting something so intimate and sacred.

The weirdest part was how lukewarm Michael was - which, to be expected. Vampire. It still felt a little off at first. He didn’t taste all that different though - perhaps what affected Sam the most was that Michael tasted so much like himself. It kept the taboo fresh in his mind, and that in turn gave him an added rush. That little streak of shame that didn’t deter him so much as spur him on.

Holy shit, he was giving his brother a blowjob. He’d jerked off to this. Maybe more than the thought of his brother blowing him.

Michael’s fingers brushed through his hair a few times before his hands settled at the back of his head. Holding him in place. Soft groans were rumbling up from his chest. His hips rocked lightly in sync with Sam’s bobbing, but there was an obvious tension in his body, a dead giveaway that he was holding back, keeping himself from going too hard, too fast, too deep.

_ Soon, _ Sam wanted to tell Mike. _ You don’t have to hold back when you fuck me _.

Sam worked his way down farther with each bob of his head, until he’d finally taken Michael’s full length in his mouth, his throat and gag reflex relaxed enough for it. He stayed there for a moment, nose pressed to his brother’s skin and the dark patch of hair just above his cock. He felt drunk on Michael, the taste of him and the smell, leather and demin and sex. He savored the way his brother’s cock throbbed against his tongue, leaking into his mouth.

“Oh, _ fuck _, Sammy, just like that.”

The encouragement sent a pleased shiver through him. Sensation was returning to all his limbs. He could feel his cock twitching, semi-hard again. With one hand moving to grip Michael’s hip to steady himself, Sam used his other to gently fondle his brother’s sack and moved his head back until only the tip was still in his mouth. His tongue swirled around it, licking away the dripping pre-come, and then he went back down, sucking hard.

Michael was all but snarling above him. One hand had moved away, gripping the bed frame again as he tensed up even more - this time with building pleasure more than to just simply hold himself back. His hips were jerky in their movements, no real rhythm anymore, and Sam could feel how close he was.

With a wordless shout, Michael came. He was almost hot in Sam’s mouth now, and he pulled Sam off him, hand letting go after to jerk himself off through the rest of it. 

Come splattered on Sam’s face and mouth, a little on his chest. He laid there, panting, lips slightly swollen. He stared at Michael as if transfixed. He didn’t care that he was a sticky mess now, and it’d take a lot of sweating and showering to get rid of the smell of sex from his face. He didn’t care. He licked at his lips, tongue stretching out to Michael’s wet tip to clean it while his brother slumped ever so slightly over him.

It was the closest he’d ever seen Michael to breathless and wasted since the night they’d killed David and Max and the others.

It was beautiful.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

Michael blinked - once, twice - as though coming out of a trance. He focused in on Sam, eyes a yellow shade that seemed to glow unnaturally in the dark of the room. “Heh, yeah. I’ve missed you too.” He leaned down, licking up some of the mess he’d left on Sam, before kissing him, slowly. “Ready to be wrecked?” he whispered with his lips brushing over Sam’s cheek.

Oh. _ Oh _. He was. He couldn’t say it for a moment, the ability to speak lost briefly as he swallowed and blinked to try and stay focused and not get completely swept up in those words. His hands fumbled around, uselessly - for what, he didn’t know. Condoms, lube? He’d come in there with nothing but the clothes on his back, and he didn’t have either one of those in his pockets - and did they even need condoms if Michael was a vampire?

“Lube?” was what he eventually managed to croak out.

Movement to his side. Michael was sliding off the bed, going...somewhere - he blended in too well with the darkness once he was more than a foot away. All Sam had to really go on was sound - movement, rustling, a soft, throaty chuckle. “All set,” Michael said a moment later, seemingly gliding back into sight, holding up a small bottle.

“You always prepared for flings?” Sam asked. He did not like that he felt a pang of jealousy. He hated even more that it came out in his tone of voice. He sounded like a teenager, angry that his brother discovered girls, mysterious, brown-eyed and brown-haired girls with bad boy boyfriends.

“Maybe I am.” He grabbed Sam by the arm, effortlessly yanking him up into a sitting position. He moved that hand back down to where he was already rock hard and throbbing again. “You feel that, Sam? That’s you. Not Star. Not anyone since her. Since you. That was me that night in your bed, the night I ran. Plenty of people have gotten me hard, gotten me off - but none of them are on my mind right now, only you. With at least half the other people I’ve been with, though, you were on my mind then. That’s always been the problem, Sammy. You’re on my mind in ways you shouldn’t be.” He leaned in, sniffing him, nipping at his earlobe. “And you should be thankful I’m prepared, because that makes things a lot easier for us, tonight, to do what we’ve been dying to do for so long.”

“Well. When you put it that way.” His brother was right. He was being ridiculous. He blamed years of dwelling on his issues and not properly addressing them. And maybe, maybe he was still wrapping his mind around this. He was so drunk on Michael, on everything they’d done, that it somehow still didn’t quite feel real. That it was some amazing, lucid dream.

But it was real.

And Michael was getting back on the bed, between his spread legs, cock hard. Twisting the cap of the bottle of lube.

Sam reached for him, hands on his shoulders, needing to anchor himself to his brother and this moment. He was trembling, a bundle of nerves and anticipation, aroused and afraid - what they’d done up to this point, it was serious, but they could still walk away. It wasn’t that he didn’t consider it sex, but it wasn’t the same kind of intimacy as this. As having someone inside you, wringing you out with every thrust of their hips, hands and mouths everywhere, chest to chest and face to face. 

He almost asked Michael to turn him over. Maybe that would be easier. He kept his mouth shut. He wanted _ this _. Wanted to see Michael’s face as much as possible in the dim, fabric-filtered light, wanted his beating heart pressed to Michael’s silent chest.

Cool and slick fingers pressed between his ass cheeks, one digit slowly easing into him, followed by another. The familiar, pleasant stretch sent Sam arching, his fingers curling and scraping down Michael’s chest. A third joined them, and slowly, they pumped. In. Out. A lazy rhythm, back and forth, getting him warmed up and coated.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he ground out, teeth clenched.

“That’s it, Sammy, open up for me. Already so relaxed, you take it so well.”

Sam’s cock twitched at the praise. He wasn’t going to last very long with this, either, but he honestly didn’t care if Michael fucked him through the night, fucked him until he was just a boneless mess that couldn’t even climax anymore. He might have thought about that a few times over the years, furiously jerked himself off to the thought until he was too sensitive and overstimulated to keep touching himself.

“Good boy, that’s it,” Michael purred as his fingers withdrew. He reached up and grabbed one of the pillows before effortlessly lifting up Sam’s hips to lay it under him so he was comfortably propped how Michael wanted him. “You ready?”

“Yes, yes, please, Michael, please.” Sam already ached at the loss of Michael’s fingers, being teased with the presence of his brother inside of him only to be left empty again. He kept his hips angled as best he could, slack-jawed and grunting at the feeling of his brother lining up his cock to push in. 

Michael was a good size, maybe not the biggest but top five, and there was a sweet, familiar burn of pressure as he slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid his cock into Sam. He stayed there, balls deep, for several long seconds to let Sam adjust. His body was taunt, trembling, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched. He looked ready to let go. Kept breathing in deep, slow and shaky breaths. Whether it was just an old reflex or maybe even vampires needed to breathe at least during sex, Sam didn’t know, didn’t care. It was hot. “Fuck, Sammy, you feel so damn good.”

For a moment, Sam could only nod in agreement. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they kept fluttering closed in a strained ecstasy, overtaken by how full he felt with his brother. Closer than they’d ever been, close how he’d always wanted. When he regained his ability for speech, all he was able to utter was, “Wreck me.”

“Whatever you want, Sammy,” Michael snarled and bent over to kiss him, capturing Sam’s cry as he started to fuck him, fast, almost too fast, too soon, brushing against every sensitive part of him, lighting up all his nerves. His hands were greedy and all over. There was no pin-prick of claws this time, just normal fingers exploring, teasing where he was tender, leaving bruises on his hips, biceps, thighs, having to grip tight whenever Sam made himself clench around his cock. His face was smooth and youthful and perfectly human, but the heat in his eyes, the power in his movements, the guttural sounds he made were primal, animalistic.

Sam wondered, briefly, if sex with Michael was always this intense, for every lover, or if it was all their history, all those long years of craving - and then he didn’t wonder much at all, except at how amazing he felt. Stretched out and held fast, his cock leaking over both their torsos, lost in the sounds Michael was making and the wet slap of flesh on flesh as sweat beaded on his skin. He clutched Michael tight, hands desperately grasping his arms. He tugged, wanting to hold his brother, wanting him closer.

Michael sensed his need and shifted, laying fully on top of him, mouth on his throat. The weight of him was lukewarm, off, but welcome. Fangs teased at Sam’s pulse again, then he pulled back, moved a hand to his mouth. Bit into his wrist and held it over Sam’s mouth - a silent offer.

Sam knew what it would mean if he accepted it.

Sam knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. Neither of them were.

He tilted his head back, mouth open, inviting. Suckled at the bleeding wound when Michael pressed his wrist to Sam’s lips. Moaned in pleasure as Michael fucked him, hitting that sweet spot inside while the metallic and heady taste of blood went down his throat and the closeness of their bodies put pressure on his sensitive cock.

The fangs returned, back at his pulse, biting down hard. 

It was too much. Sam tore his mouth from Michael’s wrist, shouting his brother’s name as his body was wracked with tension before jerking, twitching uncontrollably. His hands moved all over Michael, clutching and pawing at him, intoxicated on his brother’s blood and his latest climax. His legs writhed against Michael’s, his whole body trying to find an anchor but too overwhelmed for it.

Michael didn’t stop. He kept feeding, kept fucking. He moved like a rabid animal, sounded like one even, and finally pulled his fangs away from Sam’s throat, kissing him, their blood mingling on their tongues, mixing with the lingering aftertaste of come. “Be like me, Sammy,” he gasped. “Be with me. We can live forever, together.”

Sam moaned, still strung out and high on his orgasm, still struggling for his bearings that Michael wouldn’t let him get. “I think,” he panted, eyes opening. “I already said yes.”

“_ Fuck, Sam _!” Another thrust of his hips, and Michael went rigid, spilling inside of him. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment before opening to stay locked with Sam’s. They were yellow again, his face no longer fully human. He was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen. Always had been - always would be. His hips shuddered and finally his eyes rolled back, closing, and he collapsed into Sam, one arm moving to the bed to catch some of his weight. “Fuck, Sam.”

Breathless and dazed, Sam couldn’t help but laugh drunkenly and reply, “Yeah. You fucked me all right.”

Michael made a noise that sounded like it was an attempt at a warning growl, but turned into a weary chuckle. “Shut up, smartass.” He curled his arm around Sam’s body, holding him close so that Sam went with him when he rolled onto his back. His other hand petted at Sam’s sweat-damp hair. “Get some rest. We’ll...we’ll figure things out in the morning.”

“I’m not going to regret it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Sam whispered, enjoying his position, lying sprawled over his brother.

The room was silent for a long while, save for their labored breathing. Michael’s fingers toyed absently - nervously - with Sam’s hair, and he licked his lips a few times, mouth opening twice before he finally asked, “Which part?”

“All of it,” Sam promised without a second thought. “I know that we still have plenty to talk about in the morning. I’m not saying this is going to be smooth sailing. But I don’t regret it. I won’t in the morning. None of it.” He listened to his brother’s silence after that, all the unspoken rebuttals - he can’t know that, they’re still blood drunk and high on sex and endorphines, things change in the light of day - but he _ knew _.

He’d made his decision a long time ago.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Michael said after an extended silence. But he sounded more at ease, his nervous fingers slowing until they were just laying protectively over Sam’s head. “Love you, Sammy.”

“Love you too, Mike.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank you to my beta! <3


End file.
